


Secret Door

by AislingCastilla



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, D/s, F/F, F/M, Kink, M/M, Multi, Other, S&M, Secret Door
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingCastilla/pseuds/AislingCastilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex is one of the three partners behind Secret Door, a professional dungeon and pornography studio in Los Angeles. Life as a professional submissive isn't easy, but it fulfills Alex's needs for pain. When Alex's past comes back to haunt in the form of the powerful Syndicate to which Alex used to belong as a full time slave, only to be abandoned by the Master who had purchased Alex, a choice must be made. Alex can give in to the demands of the Syndicate, and help his dearest friend in the process, or fight for independence and possibly lose everything that took so long to build after Alex's life was shattered by the very same organization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The steam of the shower created clouds in the white tile bathroom, turning the white tile slick and fogging the mirror that covered one wall. The door opened and a dark colored shape entered along with a gust of cool air. Markus never knocked. He knew I found it jarring when I was trying to get ready for a scene. I turned off the water and wrung the last of it out of my hair. The shower was one of those walk in affairs, no door, no curtain, just a tiled corridor with three shower heads at the end. 

Markus held a towel for me and I took it, drying my face and ears before water could drip into them. “The client says he wants your natural look,” Markus informed me. I nodded and turned the bathroom fan on to try and dissipate some of the steam. Why did we call it the natural look anyway? It still took hours of work. The skin care regimen alone took up an absurd amount of time and effort.

“Do you want me to tell you about the scene?” Markus asked. He was the best manager I had ever had. More of a keeper, really. Some people said that people like me had to be taken care of. Maybe they were right. I was lost without Markus and the ones who had come before him had either not been able to handle the job or I had found them more hassle than they were worth.

“No, just the client for now,” I replied. Once I was dry I put the towel on the rack. Markus had already seen the show and more. There wasn’t much of a need to cover up.

“He is a new client. No red flags on his background check and he was referred our way by Ariel.” Markus paused to take off his glasses and rub off the fog that had gathered on them. His brown hair was just long enough to fall forward into his eyes in a rather charming way. His mention of Ariel drew a smile from me. Ariel was the owner of one of the nicer clubs downtown. When business was done for the day the club turned into an event space. Through a series of dares and requests from some of the attendees I had ended up on the sharp end of her single tail whips. She was still the best I had ever seen or felt, and I had seen and felt quite a bit.

“He is a reserved man, an engineer for an automotive research company. His references said he is experienced but I get the impression he has never quite let go. All of his equipment was submitted yesterday, it is all clean and passes your standards. The marking fee and deposit was cleared with the primary payment. He is neat, meticulous. A type A personality but he is not without social skills.”

Markus kept talking while I went through my routine. Cutting, plucking, whitening, straightening, moisturizing, filing…it all had to be perfect. My clients paid for perfect.

I had already seen the application video of the man he was talking about. In fact Markus was paraphrasing a lot of my own notes back to me. The videos were required for all of our clients who did not have the ability to meet in person before the first appointment. It helped me to see what kind of person they were, what they wanted but might be afraid to admit to, even in the presence of nothing but a webcam. Everything Markus was telling me was just a refresher course.

“Has he asked for any scene prep?”

“Yes, his request was very specific. I sent word ahead to Darren. She should have the space ready when we arrive. Do you want to know what it is?”

I shook my head. My hair was finally dry and tickled across my back. Sometimes it was easier to not know what was coming. Leaving the bathroom, I went into my bedroom with Markus trailing behind me. One wall of my bedroom was a window that overlooked Los Angeles. I could see from the ocean all the way to the Hollywood hills if the smog didn’t turn everything into a brown haze. Today was a hazy day and all I could see was a faint glitter of the Pacific and the overcrowded streets of Santa Monica below.

The carpet beneath my feet was a dove grey and the unmade bed in the center of the room was done completely in white. A waterfall in one corner was made of quartz crystals and copper that had turned green long ago. There were candles and a sound system. Other than that the room was almost empty. The only real color was a bookshelf hidden in the far corner. Worn paperbacks and oversized art books were crammed into its shelves. Beside it was a white wingback chair with silver studs on the side of the arms. 

It was so calm here and for a moment I wanted to just crawl back into bed. But no one made a good reputation for themselves by cancelling appointments last minute.

“Do I need to wear anything?” I asked Markus. He shook his head. Of course I couldn’t take the trip to the office naked. That the client had not asked for anything specific just meant that I could wear whatever I wanted to get there. Either he or Markus was just going to take it off. 

White slacks, a cream colored nearly sheer shirt under a white suit jacket with sneakers was my choice. My black hair was always a kind of startling contrast to everything I put around me. Heavy black sunglasses would hide my eyes. My driver’s license said hazel but they were more gold and green depending on the light. If I had decided to tan I probably would have had some color but I shied away from the sun faster than a vampire. Vampire as in Anne Rice, not the whining, overly emotional and immature misogynists of Stephanie Meyer.

Markus was waiting for me downstairs. We shared a loft, more for convenience than necessity. The first floor was his while I lived on the second. He leaned against the clear lucite railing, checking his cell phone. The steps were concrete blocks protruding from the wall and the railing hung from thick cables attached to the ceiling. It had been one of my favorite features when I had bought the place after my first profitable year of working for myself. When I took the last step, landing on Markus’ floor our ritual began.

“How do you want me to take you there?” Markus asked. My pulse sped just a little. If I had interpreted the client correctly from Markus’ observations then today would be very intense. I needed to prepare, to get myself into the right mindset. 

“Be firm,” I said. Different responses had different meanings and Markus knew them all and could execute any of them no matter the situation. 

“Firm, not rough?” he asked. I nodded. Normally with a new client like this one rough was the better way to go for me, but I wanted to see what scene the client wanted us to set before I assumed he would just go full throttle.

Markus grabbed the back of my neck, not hard enough to hurt me but with enough force behind it to guide me to the elevator door and leave me little choice. His hand stayed there as we descended and as we stepped out into the private garage to see the valet bringing our car; a firm, heavy weight with just a touch of pressure. It was one of my trigger spots that helped me to leave thoughts of the day to day world behind and fall into the mindset I needed. None of the valet staff looked twice. They had seen Markus do worse than hold me. The building we lived in was known for its discretion. It had been years before we had ever even seen another person who lived here.

We got into the back of my Lexus, the driver nodded to us as Markus told him to head to the office. Markus ran his thumb up and down the side of my spine just beneath my skull and it made me shiver. He let go of my neck to grab one of my wrists then pulled me into his lap and took the other one as well. His hands were big enough that he could hold both my wrists in one hand easily.

“I think he is going to want some kind of permission. He isn’t cruel. He won’t take what he needs at someone else’s expense.”

Markus was talking about the client again. His tight grip on my wrists and the way that he held me, seated between his legs with my own laying across the seat and his free arm behind my back, it made me feel small, vulnerable. I wanted him to grip my wrists tighter or tangle his other hand in my hair and jerk my head back. 

But he did none of those things. He kept talking and it was its own torture in a way. By the time we arrived at the office I desperately wanted him to do something more, anything, whether it be pleasurable or painful. He pushed me out of the car and I might have tripped on the curb had he not caught my arm. Without giving me a moment to gain my footing he strode through the back entrance that was only for myself and the two others who did business here. He was holding me nearly hard enough to bruise.

The office was a building of brown and black brick and darkly tinted glass. It looked like it could be any private law firm or accounting office in LA. Even the foyer was rich hardwood floor and comfortable looking couches in the waiting area. No one was ever in the foyer but Darren, our receptionist and the person who managed the building. We could see her through a divider of glass that was mirrored on her side. She sat behind a heavy mahogany desk that seemed a bit at odds with the three touch screen monitors that sat on top of it. The building had cameras all over the outside and the first floor and the feeds were all live on one of her screens. She rose to come through the nearly invisible glass door to greet us.

By day Darren was impeccably dressed and sharply professional. I was one of the few people who knew that beneath the pressed blouse and satin blazer she had tattoos nearly ankle to neck, could drink almost anyone under the table and start and finish a bar fight while barely breaking a sweat. She was an expert in mixed martial arts and an ex marine. Or as she would say, once a marine, always a marine.

“Everything is ready upstairs. The client arrived about ten minutes ago. He’s showering now.”

“Thank you, Darren,” Markus said as he pulled me into the elevator to go up to the fourth floor. Three of us owned the building which to all outside eyes was the home to Secret Door Productions. Most people probably thought it was just another post production house for films. They were plentiful as gas stations in LA. In reality each of us had our own floor, Pierro was on the second. Lucrezia was on the third and I was on the fourth. There was a guest suite for clients on every floor that included a bedroom, kitchen and dining room. It was rare that clients stayed the night, but when it happened we wanted them to be comfortable.

Then there were the play rooms.

Each of us had our own styles and needs and all of us had divided our floors into three distinct play rooms. For me one room was an industrial styled dungeon with chains hanging from the walls along with various pieces of metal bondage furniture. The walls and floor were black stained concrete and there was not a window to be found.

The second was more like the salon in an old Victorian bordello, or at least what I imagined one would be like. Hardwood floors with thick rugs, luxurious furniture and beautiful glass lamps and candles everywhere. You had to look hard to see the metal rings and attachment points that had been added to the furniture. The last room was the oddest. Everything was white, even the drain in the center of the floor. The walls looked solid at first glance but a touch would reveal that they were actually soft. The ceiling had various attachment points, all the metal powder coated in white. Even the lighting was behind frosted recessed panels so that the ceiling seemed simply to glow in a cool light.

When I wasn’t working I loved to just lay in the white room with headphones on listening to music. Lucrecia and Pierro said that room made them think they were going insane.

The elevator opened directly into my dressing room. The client had their own elevator that led right to their suite. The playrooms were accessed through another set of doors in each suite. Markus pushed me hard enough that I let myself fall to the floor with a measure of grace rather than stumble awkwardly to try and catch myself. The floors here were covered in thick colorful rugs and the lighting was dimmed to something tolerable. My dressing rooms were never meant to be seen by a client and so they were more casual. 

 

He took a knee beside me and began to strip off my jacket. When it and my shirt were gone he pressed his hand to my chest and held me down as he unzipped and unbuttoned the slacks to pull them off. 

It was never sexual between me and Markus. He understood that one of the things that made me successful at what I did was that my submission was genuine. It was not an act and the desire to be conquered, controlled, was not something that could be taught; only refined. Markus was not my master but he knew what to do to throw the switches in my mind to put me in the headspace to be given over to someone else's power. 

When I was nude he pushed my legs apart and grabbed a latex glove and lubricant that was on the vanity. I tried not to gasp as he applied it. I did not have sex with clients. Many didn’t even want it. BDSM was more about pushing the limits of the mind and a psychological catharsis than it was about sex sometimes. The rules that governed what could and could not penetrate my body were strict. If Markus was applying lubricant it was because I would be inserting something into myself, the client couldn’t touch whatever it would be.

Next came a blindfold. It was soft and padded on the inside so that I couldn’t see out the edges no matter how hard I tried. Markus pulled me to feet and guided me through the rooms. We stopped in the dungeon themed one, I could tell by the cold concrete beneath my feet. He positioned me to straddle something on the floor. 

“Lower yourself onto it,” he said and pushed down on my shoulder. “You need to be on your knees.”

I knelt, feeling with my hands where the dildo would be. It was seated on top of a leather object that was like a cylinder cut in half with the flat side on the floor. Beside it were thick pads for my knees. As the dildo pushed inside me I tried to let it be a slow ingress but Markus rushed me, pushing down on my shoulders again and twisting his hand in my hair. My breath caught in my throat as the dildo was seated inside me and I was resting on the cylinder, legs spread on either side of it and knees pressing into the pads.

Markus began to chain me to floor, first my ankles, then my calves just below my knees ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to lift off the dildo. Then my wrists were chained to the floor keeping my arms down at my sides.

When he was done I could do nothing but kneel there, the dildo deep inside as a feeling of erotic helplessness settled over me. Before Markus left he flipped some switch on the machine and both the dildo and the cylinder machine I straddled began to vibrate ever so softly. I tiny choked sound escaped me and I heard Markus’ footfalls as he left the room and shut the door behind him.

The room was cool and silent and I had to fight the urge to move atop the machine. Flexing the muscles of my body around the dildo only sent shocks of pleasure through me but it was a frustrating thing. It wasn’t enough, I needed more. More pleasure or pain, something…anything.

It felt like an eternity until the door on the client’s side opened. Booted footsteps entered and there was no hesitation as he came up to me. A hand tilted my chin up and a finger ran over my bottom lip. I didn’t have to fake the shuddering breath I took. The machine was nearly driving me mad.

He was close enough that I could smell the light scent of his soap over the rich smell of leather. Warmth radiated off of him and he gripped my hair and wrenched my head back even further. “Rock yourself on it for me,” he said. His voice was light and very calm, collected. It was deliberately absent of almost any emotion.

I struggled to obey, moving my hips back and forth as much as I could but no matter what angle I tried I couldn’t gain the height that I needed to truly fuck myself chained the way I was. It didn’t seem to matter to him. He watched me struggle, holding me with a firm grip by my hair the whole time. He touched me, trailing his fingers down the center of my chest and over my belly. He paused to toy with a nipple and I bit my lip and the mixed pleasure of his caresses and the ache when he pinched. 

“You’re sensitive. That’s good.” There was a pause, as if he were considering. “You may answer,” he said finally. Some clients wanted no words from me. They were instructed that if they wanted me to answer or speak they had to give me leave unless they dictated otherwise before the scene. ‘You may answer’ indicated I could say the standard No, Yes, Maybe, Thank you, etc followed by Mistress or Sir. ‘You may speak’ indicated I could speak freely.

“Thank you, Sir,” I replied, a bit of a tremor in my voice from the vibrating of the machine and my own anticipation. He stepped away toward a table that was placed against the opposite wall. All of the toys or tools he had sent ahead of him for cleaning and inspection would be there. While I didn’t usually consent to playing with many things that required prior sanitization with clients, Pierro most definitely did. Rather than discriminate and pick and choose we had made it a house rule.

As he returned I could hear the swish of something moving through the air and then he draped the soft leather falls of a flogger over my chest and shoulders, caressing me with it. A flogger could be made from many types of leather but this one was moose hide. I could tell by the thick softness of it and the unique scent. I purred low in my throat at the feel of it.

“I heard that moose was your favorite,” he said, walking in circles around me and continuing to let the falls trail over my skin. “Does that mean you can start with this?” 

I could feel the motion before the first stroke hit. Thuddy, like a punch with an open palm it hit squarely on my upper back. He was good, it was difficult to flog a target that was kneeling on the floor. The impact made me tense around the dildo and I had to resist the urge to try and rock back harder onto it. But he didn’t throw a second time, though I could hear him pacing around me in a circle. Why didn’t he continue?

“Well?” he asked. His tone was commanding, not really a question but more a pressing for a response.

“Yes, Sir. Please,” I replied. Chuckling, he obliged. He was strong and his aim was nearly perfect. It was so easy to get lost in the sensation. The stroked continued to fall until the skin of my back felt hot and overly sensitive. He paused and went to the table again. When he returned he rubbed at one of my hardened nipples. When he put the first clamp on it drew a whimper from me. The second one got a soft gasp. He tugged on the chain between the two clamps pulling it upwards and making a sharp ache radiate inward from the two point on my chest. He tugged until I had to try and rise and fight with the bonds.

When he dropped the chain a cry of pain escaped me. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. “Too much? You may speak.”

“No, Sir.” I turned my head into his hand, nuzzling against the inside of his wrist. He was still holding back. 

One of the things Markus had said that had lodged itself in my memory about this man was that it seemed he had never let go. It sounded like he was always trying to control every aspect of his life as much as he could. He would never relax his iron control even in this most intimate of places for fear of what would happen if he were not in control.

He was silent but released me. He must have changed the controls on the machine because the vibration intensity increased and began to throb in a pulsing rhythm. The next strokes of the flogger were much harder and I pulled at the chains around my wrists to anchor myself more firmly into the ground. With the blindfold on they were like explosions of sound and light behind my eyes and the haze of the endorphins was settling in. It hurt but it was a type of pain that moved through me quickly, the aftermath of it was soothing.

Little moans escaped me after each blow as the blissful pain from the stroke was chased with the torturous pleasure of the vibration. When it was becoming difficult for me to anchor myself firmly enough to take such hard hits he began to unchain me, kicking the vibrations into high gear as he did so making me squeak in surprise. When he tossed the chains away he took my upper arm to try and pull me to my feet. 

He went slowly as I came up and off the dildo but then he was too fast for my shaking legs. Kneeling like that for such a long time left you like a newborn colt. He helped me walk while almost dragging me forward at the same time. Even though it wasn’t the most graceful thing, I loved it when a client could manhandle me like this. I shivered in a mix of anticipation and the delicious feeling of being physically overpowered.

One wall had a metal St Andrews Cross built onto it. I knew the room well enough to know where we were going before he shoved me against it, my cheek and shoulders hitting the thick padding before I could put myself into a position properly. His shirt brushed over the raw feeling skin on my back as he buckled each wrist to the tops of the giant X shaped frame. He held my hand in place as the other tightened the leather strap and set the buckle. I curled my fingers around his just for a moment , not restraining, just a small bit of affection. He paused and his thumb stroked the side of my hand before he pulled away. Such a small thing but it increased the connection between us. Next came my ankles chained to the floor.

I relaxed into the frame and the restraints. People who were not masochists didn’t realize how comforting restraints could be. When you were in them there were no expectations of you. The only option was to take whatever was about to come. Your body could jerk and flinch and even fight, but it didn’t matter. It was alright because the restraints would hold you safely in place, letting you have what you craved but had been told all your life you should fight against.

He resumed the punishing swings and I could hear his breath start to come faster, more labored. His strikes were less measured, less perfectly timed. I let my head fall forward as an almost languorous sensation came over me. How to describe the way that it felt when I had pushed past the fear of the pain to accept it as nothing more than energy pushing me forward into that state of peace? I don’t think anyone who has never done it can really understand.

Small sounds of pleasure left my lips even as he worked the flogger over my buttocks and the back of my thighs. There had been less warm up there so the strokes were more shocking but I was too far into it to be jarred by that. Almost angrily he tossed the flogger onto the table. 

The toy he picked up next gave no warning but for a small wooshing sound as it cut through the air. After it hit there was a split second where I knew I had been hit but the pain was slow to wake. When it came there was no holding back the cry of pain. Whips came in many forms. This one had a leather stinger at the end rather than the normal string cracker that signal, snake and bullwhips had. It gave it a much deeper, heavier impact. Where a normal whip was like a scalpel, delicate and precise, this was like a hot knife.

With the next stroke I couldn’t help pulling against the restraints, gritting my teeth to hold back the scream. It wasn’t out of a desire to escape but more instinct to move with the pain. It hurt so much more than the flogger. The third strike crossed my buttocks and I arched back, caught in ecstasy. Whatever he saw on my face made him come to me, caressing the welts across my skin that were forming. It was a deceptive sensation, feeling like he was actually cutting the skin on my back even though I knew he wasn’t.

When he touched my shoulder it was almost surprising. I was so lost in the haze of sensation. “We don’t need these anymore,” he said and took away the first nipple clamp. I bit back a scream. They always hurt more coming off than they did being put on. When he removed the second one he rubbed at the nipples gently, even that small touch drew whimpers from me.

“I know many who cannot take more than one strike from that whip. You seemed to enjoy it.” He was still breathing heavily and he was close enough that I could lean my cheek against him.

“It hurts but I don’t want us to stop. I want to feel everything you have. Please, Sir.”

Even blindfolded I could tell that made him smile. There was an almost animalistic heat to him when he moved away and the whip struck again, this time across the back of my shoulders. He didn’t seem to mind my screams which was just as well since even with my extensive experience and control I would have had a hard time holding them back. The strikes came more and more frequently. Sometimes hard, sometimes soft.

The energy of the room built and built with every scream from me, with every grunt of effort from him as he threw the whip. The leather stinger meant it was less likely he would break skin and could put more force behind his strokes. It was almost like approaching orgasm, the way the power in the room felt. 

He paused and came back to turn my face towards his with a rough grip in my hair. “Still think you can take everything I have to give?” he growled. He was so close to me that I could feel his breath across my lips. My body trembled but I couldn’t help the small smile that came. 

“I know I can, Sir,” I replied. 

I could almost feel that terrible restraint in him snap and break. Shoving me back against the cross he went back to the table where the toys were laid out. The next blow drew an instant scream from me. It felt like a punch or blow from a bat and had it not been so well placed against the muscles of my back it might have broken bones in more delicate areas.   
It had to be one of the rubber batons he had brought with him. Nasty things, most people wouldn’t dare use them.

I didn’t even bother to try and hold back the screams.

A few times he stopped to touch me, running his hands down the back of my body and the welts and raw skin. He set the batton aside and pushed my shoulders against the cross and then drew my hips back, making me bend and offer my buttocks and legs as an easier target. Something cool and smooth touched my backside, a paddle of some kind. The force behind the first hit rocked me forward and I braced myself against the metal even as a I moaned. 

He had one hand on my shoulder helping to brace me against the next one. I could feel the impact in my bones and at times I wondered if my knees would cave.

Then the peak hit. The last hits came in a flurry and even he cried out as he put all of the force he could manage behind them. The energy crested and tears dripped from beneath my blindfold. I heard the paddle dropped to the floor and then he was behind me, his hands on my sides. I could feel him, hard and straining against the pants he wore and pressed against my hip. His palms slid up my back to my shoulders and gently, almost delicately he pressed against a pressure point and i screamed and struggled against him. He was relentless and kept the pain coming, moving from one vulnerable point to the next until my screams had faded to whimpers and my power to struggle against him and the chains waned. One of his hands went around my throat, seeking another pressure point, and a small sob escaped me. Such a small sound but I felt the warmth spread beneath the fabric of his pants as his body trembled and his breath caught. Clients did not always climax from nothing but a scene, but it wasn’t uncommon.

We sank to the floor together, him holding me in his lap. His skin was slick with sweat just as mine was and his shirt had been lost somewhere. His wet cheek touched mine and I realized he was crying too. I laid my head against his shoulder and held him in return. It was more intimate than sex. Our tears weren’t from the pain, they were from the sheer unsurpassable feeling of release.

I rarely knew what demons my clients vanquished or battled when they were with me but for most of them there was a weight lifted that was nearly a visible thing.

He cradled me against him and with one hand removed my blindfold. I blinked up at him, eyes adjusting to the light. There was an almost euphoric smile on his face as he looked at me, tracing my features with the tip of a finger. “Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welcome. And thank you,” I replied. We stayed there until we had recovered. He helped me to my feet and I kissed his cheek before leaving to walk back to my dressing room. It was hard to leave a client sometimes and I had found that it needed to be me to make the first move. Expecting them to do it didn’t work and sent mixed messages.

I could never be sure whether I would see a client again. Sometimes they only came to me once and then we never heard from them again. They usually spoke highly of their experience with me so I had decided to not worry myself over those that never returned. But I had the feeling I would be seeing this one again.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning came too soon.To say that I wasn’t ready to be woken in my nice soft bed by someone putting their hand over my mouth and flinging me roughly onto my side was an understatement. I struggled until I realized it was Pierro and the bed sheets were red.

 

Red meant we were in session in the camera room back at the house, that there was a client watching. In addition to Markus’ floor and my floor there was a small attached suite that we had turned into a high tech camera space in our loft. There were high resolution cameras surrounding the bed, attached living space and office. Every camera had a zoom function and when a client logged in with their private password during the time of their appointment they were greeted with an interface that allowed them to control the cameras. We could also hear what a client said if the camera on their end had a mic and see them through monitors of our own if they allowed it.

 

This time it was Michael. He had been one of my first clients. We had met in a BDSM club years before I had opened Secret Door and the relationship had been very lucrative for me ever since. He was an older gentlemen with aquiline and vaguely aristocratic features. His hair was only now in his seventies beginning to turn grey. He smiled at me over the monitor.

 

“Good morning, angel. I see yesterday’s client was very…thorough with you.”

 

I nodded, smiling at the familiar voice with it’s trace of a French accent. Pierro still had his hand over my mouth but I knew Michael would see the gesture. “Very good. But you have not had any release to go with such a brutal session, no?” I shook my head. This was one of Michael’s favorite games. He knew I never had sex with, or even reached orgasm, in a live session with a client. But a camera session was different and he loved to be the one to control my first orgasm after a hard beating.

 

“That is also good. Pierro, be a good man and put the gag on.”

 

It was actually more of a muzzle. Michael didn’t like ball gags. He felt they were rather crude. The one I had made was soft lambskin leather on the inside and thick hard leather on the outside and straps. It was molded to fit tightly across the lips and under the chin.

 

Pierro put it on me, pushing my hair to the side as he tightened the straps. He was straddling my legs, holding me down. He was strong, with a swimmers build and a devil-may-care type of confidence. His shoulder length blonde hair fell across my face as he kissed my cheek playfully.

 

“My my, your entire back is black and blue, my angel. Did you think of me when the whip fell? I can see the red welts even on top of the bruises.”

 

I turned my head to look at the closest camera. I smiled behind the muzzle and knew Michael would see it. He laughed, his rich voice barely given justice by the speakers.

 

“I have already told Pierro what I want him to do. No pain for you this morning my angel. I want to see your eyes roll back in pleasure.”

 

Pierro reached to the side of the bed where he had already laid out a selection of toys. How had he done all of this without waking me? He rolled me onto my back and began strapping my wrists into the restraints at the corners of the headboard. I winced as my weight settled onto my back.

 

My ankles were left free but Pierro pushed my legs apart to kneel between them. He lowered his head with a devilish smile. The man had many faults, but what he could do with his mouth made up for quite a few of them. I couldn’t help writhing a little even though it hurt.

 

“That is right. Be gentle, Pierro, but not too gentle. We do not want our angel falling asleep.”

 

Pierro did something with his tongue that drew a moan from me and made my back arch on the bed. He held my hips down, pressed into the mattress. My hands were gripping the sheets, twisting them in my fingers as the pleasure built. I turned my head to look into the camera and the one screen that would allow us to see Michael.

 

He was a handsome man and I had often wondered what it would be like to have him in my bed for real, even though he never would have allowed it. Michael found his pleasure in the visual and cerebral, saying that his period of physical sexuality had run its course.

 

“That is enough, Pierro. We do not want things to end so soon.” Pierro moved away, but not before biting the inside of my thigh. He was normally a dominant when he worked, but he was open to taking direction from a client as long as he was still on top. He and I could work well together, but he sometimes liked a little more blood in his scenes than I did. I trusted him to be able to do these surprise scenes with me since he could read me well enough to tell what was too much and what was okay.

 

Today he was a little more forceful and that was perfect. Having him and Michael take the reins let me relax and empty my mind. Pierro got off the bed for a moment and I turned my head back to look at Michael’s screen.

 

“Yes, keep your eyes on me. I wish to see the expressions on your face,” Michael said. He leaned back in the leather chair he was seated in with an almost smug look.

 

Pierro climbed back onto the bed, missing the jeans he had been wearing before. He was nude but for a condom. My legs had closed when he left and he pushed them back open. Putting one arm under my hips he lifted me to place a pillow under the small of my back. He leaned over me and I turned my head to see him for the briefest of moments. With a low growl he tangled his hand in my hair and turned my face back to the monitor. The tiny shocks of pain from his pulling made my heart beat faster.

 

Angling his hips he started to push his way inside me. Not brutally, but insistent and unyielding. A small whimper, more from the feeling of being so wonderfully violated than from any real pain, made Pierro grin and Michael chuckle. Once he was inside and the lube on the condom had eased his way he began to thrust in earnest.

 

He had a way of rolling his hips that made his strokes hit all the right spots. I did my best to push back against him, to not make him have to do all the work, but he was having none of it. His body pinned mine to the bed and with my hands shackled and the tight grip he had on my hair I was nearly immobilized. The pleasure was building even faster than when he had been using his mouth and I was biting my lip behind the muzzle, trying to maintain some control.

 

It was always like this after a heavy session. Normally, I could control and hold off my own orgasm almost endlessly, but when the welts were fresh and the bruises so deep it was as if all that hard won ability was weakened along with my body. Pierro’s thrusts had become harder, more brutal, until the bed rocked beneath the force of it and my small cries of pleasure were muted by the muzzle. I fisted my hands in the sheets and closed my eyes.

 

“Look at me, angel,” Michael said. I opened my eyes and knew there would be an urgent longing in them. “Do you wish for me to give you release?” he asked. I nodded, trying to show him how much I wanted it.

 

He was silent for a few moments, watching us with a heat in his eyes that made me shiver. Every second seemed to last longer than the one before I as I tried to think of anything and everything that would keep me from climaxing. Finally, Michael relented.

 

“Feel your pleasure, Alex. Let me see your face as it takes you.”

All I could do was keep my face turned toward the camera. I was never able to keep my eyes open during orgasm. Pierro had been holding off his own orgasm as well and when my body spasmed around his as the rush of pleasure made every muscle in my body sing, he came as well in a breathless rush.

 

When I opened my eyes I was looking at Michael. He was in the library at his house in France. He had several homes in different countries but this was the one he called from the most. The desk in front of him was some dark, heavy looking wood. Behind him the wall was lined with shelves filled with huge leather bound volumes that seemed to promise dry content and an endless Index.

 

The room was cold and I shivered but it seemed far away and distant. Pierro said my name loudly and I got the impression he had been calling me for awhile. Michael laughed.

 

“You have done you work well, Pierro. It seems you have made our angel lose his wits for a moment. My lovelies, it has been a pleasure, but I must leave you. Make certain that Alex treats those bruises. Good evening.”

 

The monitor went dark and the small red lights beneath each camera turned of to indicate they were no longer active. Pierro freed my wrists and brought up the blankets to tuck them around me.

 

“Did you eat after your session yesterday?” he asked. I frowned at him, uncertain.

 

“I can’t remember. What’s wrong?” I shivered again and pulled the blankets a little closer.

 

“You’re shocky. Blood sugar is probably tanked too. You need to eat something. I’ll go get Markus,” he said, getting off the bed.

 

“There is no need,” Markus said as he entered through one of the doors that led to the other filming rooms. He had a cup of steaming tea with him. I did my best to sit up, wincing as the movement stretched sore muscles and painful skin.

 

“You’re like Alfred, Markus. If Batman’s suit were made out of leather it would be perfect,” Pierro said before leaving for the bathroom to clean up. Markus sat on the beside me and held my hands around the small warm cup when they shook. I took a small sip and he frowned as he watched me.

 

“You’re pale. Did it go too far yesterday?” he asked. I shook my head but stopped when it made me dizzy.

 

“No, it wasn’t too far but it was intense.” He took the cup from me when he saw my hands still shaking. “Do I look that bad?” I asked. He sighed.

 

“Drunken pasta or yellow curry?” he asked. They were my two favorite comfort foods and if he was asking then it meant I looked horrible and he was going to make me spend the day on the couch dozing and eating. There were some perks to my job.

 

The bathroom door opened and Pierro came back, fully dressed. I was still wrapped in a rather messy sheet and definitely needed some kind of a bath, I was too shaky for a shower. Pierro held a hand out to me.

 

“Go on, Alfred,” he said to Markus. “I’ll make sure Alex gets cleaned up and dressed.”

 

“Pasta, please,” I replied and took Pierro’s hand. The room spun when I stood up and he put my arm over his shoulders and his hand around my waist, careful of the bruises on my back. He had already run a bath and the warm water felt wonderful and horrible at the same time. The heat was divine but the water stung the open welts on my back. Tying up my hair, I started washing. Pierro sat on the side of the tub.

 

“Lucrecia is coming back early. Something about crazy lesbians and kangaroos. She was already getting drunk to make it through the flight from Australia so I couldn’t quite make it all out.”

 

I smiled. “Her clients will be glad. She’s been gone awhile.” Lucrecia had clients all over the world and for enough money or a good enough reason she would travel for sessions. She was a great Dominatrix and I loved her to death even though sometimes she scared the hell out of me. Perhaps that was part of her charm.

 

Pierro stretched his arms over his head and I heard bones in his shoulders pop. He sighed and relaxed, looking for all the world like nothing more than a smooth faced grad student. It always kind of surprised me that Pierro looked so “normal”, without a tattoo or piercing in sight and an open boy-next-door demeanor, and had such blood drenched tastes. I had seen the man do scenes so bloody we had to be careful not slip on the floor and the room had to be hosed down afterwards. What was even more impressive was everyone involved left with a smile and nothing more than a few basic bandages.

 

He was twisted, but he knew his craft and was careful. His hand waved in front of my face and I started.

 

“You were zoned out. You need to take it easy today, I don’t like your color and those marks on your back are deep.”

 

I nodded and kicked the drain on the tub to let the water out. Clean, but still feeling weak, I took the towel Pierro handed me and wrapped it around myself loosely. Towel fibers stuck in scabs was a horrible thing.

 

“I’ll send Alfred in. Have him transfer my share to my personal account will you? And tell Michael I enjoyed it. He said he would text you later.”

 

“Did you? Enjoy it, I mean.” I asked with a half smile. Pierro threw a hand towel at me. It was never anything but business between us but I couldn’t resist teasing. He left and I got to my feet slowly, when it didn’t feel like the floor would come up to hit me in the face, I walked from the camera suite to my own rooms. Lying on the bed were my soft, worn, white cotton pants and an equally done in T shirt. They would be the easiest thing to wear until the bruises and welts went down.

 

Putting them on, I went to go and curl up on my couch when I saw my cell phone resting on the coffee table, its little blue message light blinking. I picked up the phone and the TV remote sitting next to it, flipping to my recorded episodes of American Horror Story. The chance to watch TV was rare and I had quite the stockpile. The grating, muted chainsaw of the intro played. I could never tell whether I liked or hated that noise.

 

Curling up on the couch I flipped through the text messages; Ariel asking how the client from yesterday had been and when was I coming back to the club, something in drunken spanish from Lucrecia and one voicemail from a number I didn’t recognize. I played the voice mail, ready to delete in case it was just an annoying telemarketer. The voice that I heard turned my heart to ice and I became very still.

 

“Alex...Hi, its me. We haven’t talked for awhile. Hope you’re doing okay. I hear great things about your business. Your name has even come up with some of my clients overseas. Anyway, I would like to see you. Talk some things over. Would Thursday at BeaBeas be okay? 10am? Let me know.”

 

I suddenly felt very out of place in my own rooms. The soft grey carpet and white walls that were normally soothing seemed almost tainted somehow. With nothing more than a phone call that man had managed to infringe on my sanctuary. Markus gave a polite cough and I looked up to see him standing in the doorway, watching me. He came in and sat beside me. “It was him, wasn’t it.” I let my phone fall onto the couch cushion.

 

“Yes,”

 

“He called the office a few days ago. Darren told him you were unavailable. Who would have given him your cell?”

 

Even though Markus hadn’t known me when I had belonged to him, the story was one that I was sure Pierro or Lucrecia would have told him. The story of the Syndicate slave who had been abandoned by their master was too juicy to let go.

 

I rubbed at my temples, fighting the headache I could feel just behind my eyes, “I’m sure he just bullied or charmed it out of someone.” How dare he? Why call after such a long time?

 

Markus had a small tub of salve in his hands, cupping it so that it warmed. “Lay down,” he said, moving over so I could. On my side, half curled around a pillow with my head on his knee, I tried to concentrate on the drama on the screen. It was crazy that just hearing his voice after five years could make me so angry.

 

Markus rubbed the salve into the worst of the welts and bruises with a very gentle touch. It hurt at first but soon the oils and herbs in it began to soothe the pain. “What did he want?”

 

“To have coffee and talk,” I replied, eyes closed as I let the actor’s voices wash over me. I concentrated on the feel of Markus’ hands and took a deep breath. I was tired enough that it wasn’t hard to let go of the surge of irrational anger.

 

“You should go.”

 

Opening my eyes, I turned my head to look at Markus, ignoring the twinge of pain across my shoulders. “Why do you say that?” He didn’t often offer an opinion on my personal life, but when he did I tended to listen. Markus knew me better than almost anyone and, like me, he had hunches about people.

 

“It will make you feel better. Show him that you bounced back from before. How far you’ve come. That he was too stupid to see who he treated so badly.”

 

“I don’t need to prove anything to him,” I said, a little defensive.

 

“No, but you want to prove it to yourself.”

 

There wasn’t much I could say to that. The red headed maid, one eye blank and the other knowing too much, had her close up on the screen. “I’m not naive to the ways of men,” she said. “Their need to objectify, conquer. They see what they want to see.”

 

“Would you mind calling his secretary tomorrow?” I asked. “Thursday at 10am. I will be there.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The only reason BeaBea’s wasn’t packed wall to wall with people was because it was a weekday. It was one of the most popular breakfast and lunch places on the north side of the hill. On the weekends there would be a crowd of people milling around the parking lot, waiting for a table. As it was, nearly every table was full. I twisted my car keys around my finger as I waited for my eyes to adjust from the bright California sunshine. I wore dark sunglasses but didn’t take them off just yet. 

“Table for one?” the smiling, over-caffeinated hostess asked. I smiled back. She was cute in a youthful kind of way. Definitely not my type, but she was so friendly she made you want to be kind to her. It was a useful talent in a restaurant as busy as this one.

“Actually, I am looking for someone. Knowing him he has been here for about fifteen minutes drinking nothing but water, wearing a suit with no tie and looking like down on his luck actor turned politician .”

She grabbed two menus. “Yep, I know just the one. Follow me.”

I repressed the urge to laugh to myself as we wound our way through the tables and I spotted him, just as I had described to the hostess. He stood when he saw me and pulled out a chair. Some would think it was a courteous gesture but I knew it for the bid for control that it was. That and an opportunity for him to show off the fit frame, nicely fitting trousers and tailored shirt. 

“Alex, I am glad you could make it.”

Ignoring the chair he pulled out, I took another at the four seater table, glad that there weren’t only two chairs. The hostess looked at me expectantly. “Black coffee?” I asked her, pushing the sun glasses up to rest on my head. She nodded, asked my lunch mate if he wanted anything else and then left, promising that our waiter would be along soon.

“You look good,” he said, settling into his chair. He was annoyed with my little act of defiance about the chair but trying hard not to show it.

“This is starting to feel like the beginning of a very awkward romantic comedy, David. Why exactly did you want to see me?”

“That is rather abrupt, Alex. Are you really still that upset with me?” He was so good at making his tone of voice sound kind, but when you looked past it he was just being patronizing. He wanted me to feel silly or immature for being angry. It had taken me a long time to be able to remind myself that I had the right to feel whatever the hell I wanted to.

“I was pretty angry that you had the guts to call. Now I’m just wondering if this is a waste of time. My curiosity only holds out so long.”

“And what if I just wanted to see how you are doing? Catch up? Maybe rebuild a friendship?” He picked up one of the menus from the table, leafing through it casually. As much as I hated to admit it, he did look good. Under the suit he was still in good shape, immaculately dressed as always. I wondered who was shining his shoes these days. Did he make someone new lick them clean when he walked in the door?

The memory was a sharp one, unlike some from my time with him. When he came home from work I would be there waiting for him, kneeling in the entryway, wearing nothing but my collar and perhaps just a touch of eyeliner. He would come in, set his laptop bag down on the little table and begin to remove his watch, keys, pocket change and what have you. When he came close I would lean forward to the ground, bracing my hands on the floor as I licked up the side of his leather boot. 

Sometimes it had made me feel safe. Him standing over me, pleased at my obedience. Other times it was annoying or made me feel irritated. Being a slave was not always hot sex and a kinky cakewalk. A Syndicate contract was binding. While it probably wouldn’t hold up in an American courtroom, it was enforced by the weight of everything I had given up to be able to sign it. That meant that even though there were days when I just wanted to do what I wanted; relax, watch TV, go to a concert, anything! It didn’t matter if that wasn’t what David wanted me to do. Pushing past the frustration, being under his power had given me a sense of security that had been more precious than anything. I hadn’t known at the time that he would blow it all to hell.

“Rebuild a friendship? You kicked me onto the street after I gave up everything to become the property of the Syndicate and sign a contract with you,” I said. “Friendship is bullshit. Tell me why you wanted to speak with me.”

Our waiter appeared at our table and I had to stop glaring at David. “Hi! Welcome to BeaBea’s. Can I get you anything or you need more time?”

It wasn’t often that you met a flamboyant man with such a strong southern drawl in LA. He managed to make it charming rather than obnoxious, a trap I felt many fell into. David gestured to say that I should go first.

“Veggie Omelet,” I said, remembering a promise made to Markus about protein. I took a sip of the coffee that had been brought but I had forgotten about until now. David smiled a bit and ordered something with piles of dead animal on it.

“Back to being a vegetarian?” he asked, looking just a bit smug. 

“I always resented that you made me eat meat. It seemed cruel.” The coffee cup was warm in my hands and I made the mistake of relaxing back against the chair. The bruises on my back were slowly fading but were far from gone. I did my best to keep any sign of pain off my face but just as I knew David, he knew me.

“I seem to recall you enjoying it when I was cruel,” he replied with a pointed look. I leaned forward with my elbows on the table. His brown eyes watched me and this close I could smell his cologne. Even though I hated myself for it, I still found him horribly attractive. He ran a hand through his dark wavy hair that was just long enough that it had to be brushed back with a bit of product to still look conservatively professional. 

We were quiet for a few minutes, letting the tension stretch out. I sipped my coffee and he his water. Eventually his cell phone buzzed and, to my surprise, he silenced it and stuck it in his pocket with an almost pained look as he glanced at the caller ID.

“I enjoyed many things with you,” I said, restarting the conversation. “But that is all in the past and I’m not looking for a hook up or a fling. My dance card is full. I am doing great. You look like you’re doing great. We’ve caught up. You should start talking about what you asked me here for. I’m losing my appetite.”

Now he leaned back in his chair and something about him changed. He wasn’t trying to patronize me now and he wasn’t trying to flirt. This was David in business mode.

“I have a friend who would like to acquire your services.”

“He can submit an application like everyone else,” I replied. 

“He doesn’t want to hire you through Secret Door. He wants you to rejoin the Syndicate.”

I fought to keep my expression blank. The Syndicate was a group of people who had decided that truly owning someone for the sake of sexual slavery was up their ally and within their purview. It was made up of people who had the money to entice someone into entering into contracts that lasted years and to keep it a secret from anyone who mattered. David was a lower tier member. Slaves were bought by the Syndicate as a whole and then sold to an individual member who reimbursed them for the cost of the contract. When David had broken our contract I had cut all ties with them and they had let me. 

“Odd that they would want me back. I had thought that you would have told them I wasn’t worth the money.” I took another sip but couldn’t taste it. Only David could ruin my appetite for coffee.

“On the contrary. I was honest with them. I told them you had been flawless, that I had made a mistake to...end things the way I did. I also convinced them to let you go without a fight.”

I set my cup down with a bit more force than I had intended. “I don’t want to have anything to do with them.” 

“They are willing to pay whatever you want.”

“I don’t care. I have what I want. Why would I risk ending up with another master who would do what you did? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not considering it may have consequences. Look,” he held a hand up to stop my interjection. “They have someone picked out for you. It’s not a normal contract.”

“Tell them I’m not interested.” I started to get up, tossing some cash on the table to cover my portion. It really was a shame to leave such good food but I wasn’t willing to hear anymore.

“They don’t like to hear no, Alex. I don’t think you want to deal with a city tax audit, permits being revoked or inspections being called? L.A. is tough for small businesses and the red tape can tie your doors shut.”

“Everything at the Secret Door is a hundred percent legal,” I replied, standing.

“Don’t be naive. You know the kind of people that belong to the Syndicate and who are on their payroll. Please, sit. The food is coming. Just hear what I have to say. You can storm out later.”

I hated the way he had phrased it. If I left now then it would make me feel like some hysterical drama queen. Seeing the waiter coming with the tray, I swallowed my anger and sat. The omelet smelled amazing as he set it in front of me. I picked up a fork and pushed the cheese off of it. I wondered how honest David was being. He had never been deliberately malicious before, but he had always been self serving.

“What are you getting out of this? If I had said yes what would they give you?” I asked.

I tried to ignore the iron tinged smell coming off of his plate. I wasn’t a preachy vegetarian but the smell of meat had never seemed appealing to me. It wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t tolerate it, but I did have to refrain from wrinkling my nose a bit. David took a few bites with refined gusto and I could see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes.

“It goes without saying that if you would return it would go towards clearing my name from our little mishap. But the members of the Syndicate who are requesting your services would be good friends to have.”

“Not that I was ever considering this, but everything you are saying is making me even less interested.”

“Would you rather deal with the headache they can cause for you? Would you rather see Secret Door close, possibly with some very bad press that would make freelancing for you and your colleagues rather difficult?” There was a twinge of worry in my chest. David had lost his usually over confident demeanor and was watching me earnestly, without the overconfident expression he had worn at the beginning.

“Why would they be so vindictive towards me just for turning them down? It isn’t personal.” Despite myself, I believed David. He didn’t have any reason to lie to me about this. His reasons for being involved and what it would get him I had no doubt he would he lie about, but not the effects that this would have on me. No, he had always been very upfront about how what he was doing was going to hurt me.

The thought brought another memory to mind. I was on my hands and knees on a bed. The gorgeous wrought iron and red velvet affair at one of the local dungeons, closed this night for a private party. Chains were attached from clamps on my nipples to the rails of the bed. With the angles of the chains I couldn’t move far from the center of the bed without them pulling painfully. 

It wasn’t just the chains keeping me there, though. A man was taking me from behind, driving into me so hard that my fingers dug into the sheets to try and keep me from slipping forward into my Master who knelt in front of me. In one hand he held another chain attached to a collar around my neck. It wasn’t my slave collar, though I wore that just below this new one. The one he held the chain to was a choke collar, the kind you would put on a dog with the barbs on the inside that dug in when tightened. 

My master pulled my head back by my hair, making me look up at him. Knowing what he wanted, I opened my mouth and he pushed his cock between my lips. It was so fast I had to fight to keep my teeth away from him and the man riding me made my job much harder. Eventually I found a rhythm, letting them kind of rock me between them as I tried not to struggle when my Master’s cock went too far down my throat and the cock inside me went so deep it was painful.

“How does it feel, slave? We aren’t the only ones you need to please. You know I love to share. There is quite the line waiting already.”

I had been a little afraid, and more than a little excited. So many people! But he had been there the whole time, making himself both a source of distress and succor as I fought to continue to pleasure him to his satisfaction. How divine if I could do this perfectly for him? Even as my jaw and lips began to ache and other parts of me became chafed and painful, his touch made me crave more. The chain though, that had hurt, almost enough that I thought I would have to give him the signal saying I needed to stop. But he knew where that line was, and he played along the edge delicately. It was the knife edge between agony and bliss.

Countless men and women came, so many cocks and strap-ons that I was sore and raw when it finally, mercifully, ended. But my master had been pleased, and back then that was the only thing that mattered to me. He had been very gentle and attentive the next day when I had been so sore that walking had been sweetly painful. Just the memory made my pulse pick up a little.

They were deliciously dark thoughts for such a bright, airy setting with the buzz of conversation around us. I took another bite of the omelet, pushing down the feelings that the memory stirred.

“Nobody in the Syndicate is the type of person who takes refusal well.”

The way he was pushing this so hard made me think this was affecting David’s business in some way. He would only go through all of this and be so insistent if there was out of some kind of self interest. David was a freelance legal consultant. He assisted companies in navigating the laws that governed the manufacturing, release, and distribution of their products in international markets. It wasn’t glamorous but the paycheck was nothing to sneeze at. 

“Not exactly a positive opinion on your fellow members,” I remarked lightly. It certainly wasn’t a surprise. The Syndicate was made up of members of Congress, judges, lawyers, the owners of huge companies, and others who were used to getting their way.

I had eaten the majority of the omelet and set my fork down, full. David did the same and watched me, waiting.

“You look good too,” I said, surprising him. I didn’t mean anything by it, it was just the truth. “But I still don’t want to do business with the Syndicate, and I don’t want to see you again.”

This time I started to get up and he didn’t seem inclined to stop me. “Please, think about it, Alex. Despite what you might think of me, I didn’t want to get you involved in this.”

I didn’t bother answering. As I left I gave another smile to the hostess and she actually blushed. In the warm sunlight it was hard to take David seriously. When I had first learned of the Syndicates existence a part of me had believed it was an elaborate prank until I had found myself naked and on my knees in their California training house. Over the years they had become nothing more than a shadowy memory. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.


End file.
